


Photograph

by Frostbearer



Series: 50 themes - Vergil & Dante [34]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen, brotherly love/hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 12:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18446660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frostbearer/pseuds/Frostbearer
Summary: Nobody knew that there wasn’t one, but two photographs in Dante’s office. Post DMC1





	Photograph

**Author's Note:**

> Theme: #45 - Hell  
> Originally written 2008 and published on ff.net  
> Mildly edited now.

 

There were days when Dante thought that he had forgotten all about his old life, back when he had been a child, been loved by his parents and had a brother to annoy/amuse. He could laugh and just enjoy the everyday life as a demon hunter, killing things or eating pizza and devouring tomato-juice as if it was water. He'd tease Lady about that each time he saw her she wore less and less clothing, and that he hoped that soon she wouldn't wear anything at all.

It would earn him a boot to the head, but he'd soon have forgotten about the pain, laughing at her as she stormed out, raging with fury.

Then there were days when he sat cooped up in his office, staring at the two pictures he kept at his office. Only one of them were out in view for the public, the other he kept in the locked third drawer underneath a bunch of movie magazines, and he only looked at it when there was nobody there.

Those times he never wanted anyone to see that once again he became the little brother, still longing for his elder brother to tell him that he was a stupid idiot who picked the wrong fights, who would cuff him over the head and walk away to sit and read in some quiet place.

Dante would sit there, hair hanging down and shielding his eyes, his lips quirked into some kind of twisted grimace of pain and joy. The neon sign outdoors flickering madly since Dante had yet to change the gapping relay, and it sent twisted images of pinkish-red throughout the darkened office. At one point Dante had considered shooting it down, the words mocking him, but then, with a glance at the photograph, he would remember just why he'd picked that sign. Images flickered by on his retina, brief moments by most standards, but to Dante they meant the world.

* * *

 

Vergil taking a walk in the snowy landscape outside their house; only a pale triangle of his face visible underneath the heavy blue-grey coat and the thick scarf that their mother had knitted for Vergil. Dante jumping out from where he’d been hiding behind a snowdrift, launching snowball after snowball on his unsuspecting twin. Within minutes a full-scale snow war had erupted between them, leaving them both panting and freezing, their cheeks flushed with colour.

* * *

 

Vergil standing almost rigid next to Dante in their father's study, Yamato being placed in his hands. Vergil's hands were trembling just the slightest at the unfamiliar weight of the o-katana, and Dante didn't need to look to know that Vergil’s eyes were the size of dinner-plates, because that was precisely how his own eyes looked when their father handed him Rebellion. Dante had almost toppled over at the weight of it; he'd had no idea of that a sword could be so heavy. As if one they had both solemnly nodded when their father had asked if they understood what this meant, even though neither of them at the moment had. They had both fought to conceal their enthusiasm, but the moment they had left the room they almost simultaneously drew their swords and let out a collective "cooooooooooool!"

* * *

Vergil was practising with Yamato, ignoring his twin's pleas of that they could practise together. Dante sulked in a corner of the garden, watching his brother move with practised ease, his eyes closed as he struck down imaginary enemies. Envying his brother's skills, Dante had asked their father to teach him that as well, but Sparda had refused, telling Dante that he needed to develop his own style of fighting.

Sighing, Dante trotted off towards another part of the garden, putting up a couple of cans and loading his soft-air guns while humming on something he'd heard on the radio earlier on. As he fired off the first few rounds and sent one can flying in the air, he let out a whooping "Jackpot!" and without looking, he knew his brother had paused in his training, shaking his head to himself and smiling. Then, without failure, Dante would have a partner and there would not be one, but two voices who shouted out “Jackpot!”

* * *

Dante was having a nightmare, tossing and turning restlessly in bed. He was fighting someone, but the face was veiled in shadows. Rain was pouring down on him, slowing his movements a fraction or two. He was older, and in some twisted way Dante knew whom he was fighting. He knew those movements, knew that if he swung his sword in this way it would be countered in precisely that way, and if he walked to the right the other would – almost as if it could read his mind - already have moved in position to strike at him.

In that very moment when a flash of lightning lit up the face of his brother, Yamato struck downwards to finish him off, the perfectly polished blade stained with crimson.

Dante screamed, and woke up to feel hands shaking his shoulders, a low voice calling his name over and over again. Staring up at the face of the very person Dante had seen in his dream he flinched backwards, before his frantically beating heart slowed its pace and he could think clearly once again.

"Verge," he murmured, using the pet name that only he was allowed to use.

"You were having a nightmare," his twin informed him, scanning his face for several long moments, absentmindedly removing a lock of hair from Dante’s face.

"… Yeah."

Dante nestled back into the covers, still looking up at his brother who had yet to let go of his arms. Despite that Vergil probably had rushed out of bed, he still looked every bit of his neat self, the only difference that his hair lay down, much like Dante's.

"Hey Verge," he murmured, averting his eyes for a few moments before returning to look at the one who gazed evenly at him, a brow lightly raised.

"Yes?"

"I want'cha to promise me somethin'…" Dante begun, sleazing off his speech pattern partially because he wasn’t quite comfortable with what he was about to say, and partially since he was already halfway falling asleep once more.

"Promise me that you won't do something stupid like joining up with dad's likes, no matter what."

Vergil snorted and let go of Dante.

"And why, pray tell, would I do something foolish like that?"

Dante shrugged, not wanting to admit to the strange feeling he had in his chest. He'd had dreams like this one before, and on some level he had always been aware of that he and his brother, at some point, would clash, but he didn't want to admit it even to himself.

Vergil had let go of him, standing up with one hand on his hip and the other by his side.

"C'mon. Just humour me, Verge."

Vergil raised the hand that had been hanging by his side to let it loosely grasp around his half of the pendant their mother had given them on the same day their father had given them Yamato and Rebellion.

"I see no reason for why I would ever do something like that. Now go to sleep, it's our birthday tomorrow, and mother has probably something planned for us."

With those words he left the room, leaving Dante in the darkness.

Ah, that’s right, they’d turn eight in a matter of hours.

Smiling to himself Dante closed his eyes, for the moment forgetting about the dream, forgetting all except for that he was happy that despite everything he and his brother were on the same side. Happy that they had a mother who loved them more than anything.

* * *

Vergil's face was twisted into a grimace, his entire being radiating of that he was in pain. Falling down, down, down, and Dante tried to catch him. Dante's palm being sliced open, Vergil's hand clutching the half of the pendant that their mother had given him. Dante stared down after him, feeling a part of him die.

* * *

Another time, another fight, this time against someone that moved with a familiarity that Dante knew by heart, though with every breath he took he knew it was impossible. It couldn’t be him. He was dead. _Gone_.

Then, as Dante struck the killing blow he saw his twin's face; and this time there was no anger, no hatred, and no remorse. Only a deep sense of peace - finality, and Dante knew that the circle had finally closed as identical sky-blue eyes closed for the final time, his body vanishing back into darkness.

 

Dante wasn't certain, but for a moment he almost thought he'd heard Vergil mumble two words, and for the rest of his life they would haunt him, making him sit in his office on odd days, just staring at a picture of Vergil and himself, their faces flush with colour, snow in their hair, both of them grinning like maniacs. He'd wonder, was there any way that he could have stopped all of this, could he have done anything to keep his brother from dying?

The photograph never gave him any answers, all it ever said that there had been a time when they had been the other half of one another, when they had been one. That there'd been days when he had called Vergil his loved/hated mirror image, because in reality - that was what he'd always be. Dante would never stop loving his brother, but he could never stop hating him either. Loving him for that he knew him so very well, for that they'd always been there for one another, even though they would both fiercely deny it if asked about it. For that he had given Dante some sense of hope and stability, that he'd been his voice of reason when all Dante had wanted was to go berserk.

He'd always hate him, because in the end, he'd had to kill him, and they’d both known it.

 


End file.
